


intimidated, old traumas triggered, fearing for my safety, I did what I felt I needed to do

by WakahisaDManami



Series: The Twisted and the Manic [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Childhood Sexual Abuse, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Seen through the eyes of a child, Trauma, mentions of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WakahisaDManami/pseuds/WakahisaDManami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe- maybe it’s OK this time.</p><p>Maybe it <i>is</i>.</p><p>Maybe it's OK.</p><p> </p><p>It's not OK.</p><p>It's not, it's not, it's not-</p>
            </blockquote>





	intimidated, old traumas triggered, fearing for my safety, I did what I felt I needed to do

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I wrote this but I did
> 
> Title comes from Sierra D. Waters's _Debbie_.

He’s picked up, and he automatically wraps his arms around the person’s neck. He’s pretty sure it’s still the middle of the night, but mama wakes him up early sometimes to go to the forge, and they smell safe and familiar. He’s too big to be carried around, but he’s too sleepy to walk, really, so it’s OK now.

The bathroom door squeaks as it’s opened, and he opens his eyes. Mama never takes him to the bathroom when she wakes him up. He can go by himself even though he’s just five.

It’s Jacques. He tenses, stomach sinking, but maybe- maybe it’s OK this time. Maybe mama just asked him to wake him and he thinks he can’t go alone. The little ones still have diapers, so maybe he just thinks he doesn’t know how.

The man is locking the door, and he doesn’t like it, not one bit, but maybe it’s OK this time.

(He doesn’t really think so).

Jacques is turning the shower on, and his stomach clenches. It’s not OK. It’s not, it’s not, it’s not.

His feet almost buckle as he’s put down, but he’s a big boy and he can do this. He can, he can.

“C’mon, little O, we’re gonna take a shower. Take your clothes off.”

He wants to tell the Alpha his name’s Kid, not Omega, but he won’t listen – he never does – so he just pulls his shirt off and pushes his boxers down. He doesn’t want to, but maybe- maybe it’s still OK this time. Maybe it _is_ OK.

Jacques is pulling his trousers and boxers off. His penis is already big. He looks away, hunching.

It’s cold without his shirt on. He wants to sleep without it like his brothers but he always gets cold and mama says he needs to keep his chest warm. She says it’s gonna matter when he grows up. It has something to do with Alphas and babies, he’s sure of it, but he’s not gonna ask. He’s never gonna have an Alpha or babies anyway. Never ever ever. He’d rather die.

Last time Jacques tried to push his penis inside – where he always puts his fingers – but he couldn’t stop crying because it hurt and he sobbed so loud the Alpha’d stopped and made him use his mouth instead.

Using his mouth hurts sometimes – Jacques often pushes his head down until he can’t breathe – but he knows some things that make it over sooner and it’s not so bad that way.

Jacques is picking him up again, and he shies away before he can stop himself. The Alpha tuts at him, frowning, and he goes still. He doesn’t want to get hurt. He doesn’t wanna have to lie to mama.

He’s picked up and the man steps into the shower, one hand stroking his chest. The water is so nice and the hand is warming him up real fast, but he remembers the punch he got yesterday for ‘mouthing off’ when he tried to say no too well to lean into the touch even though he wants to.

The Alpha is murmuring something, praising him, but he doesn’t wanna hear it. He says so many weird things that make him wanna throw up. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to close his ears, too. It’s not working very well.

Jacques’s hand is moving down, and he tries to push it away but he gets a growl for that and he freezes up immediately. It’s not good when he starts growling. He could get a beating or worse-

He’s touching down there, rubbing a little, and he tries to squirm away but a finger is pushing inside - he’s whimpering and tears are starting to stream down his face but it hurts, it hurts, and he can’t help it-

Jacques is staring down at him, breathing hard, pushing his finger more and more but it can’t fit, it can’t, it can’t-

“Oh, you’re _beautiful_. So beautiful, Omega. Wriggling around like that, whimpering- What you’ll look like all grown-up in your mating bed-!” he pulls his finger out and it hurts so bad inside even though it’s gone-

A big hand is gripping his, pushing it down, and he doesn’t know what it wants but there’s something warm- no, he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t, he doesn’t want to touch Jacques’s penis but the fingers are forcing him to hold on-

“Stroke me,” the Alpha rumbles. “If you’re a good boy I’ll get you something nice tomorrow. Something really nice … stroke me!”

He doesn’t want to. Something shoots out if he strokes, it’s disgusting, and Jacques always makes him lick it off- but if he doesn’t something bad will happen and he doesn’t want that either. He doesn’t want a beating or his mug thrown onto the floor or his teddy bear ripped apart again or the bird he’s been feeding killed or his arm held over the furnace until he gets blisters-

He starts stroking, forcing his hand to keep moving and swallows over and over because he’s gonna throw up any moment and he’s gonna get such a beating-

Jacques doesn’t make him lick it off this time.

Just tells him he’s a good boy and reaches for the shampoo. He doesn’t say anything as the Alpha washes his hair and helps him out of the shower. He feels like his insides are frozen and he just wants to get back to bed and try to get warm again.

He pulls his clothes on without bothering with the towel he’s handed, unlocks the door with shaking hands, and slides out, closing it behind him. He’s not sure how his legs are still working or how long they will but he needs to get to bed before they stop. His is on the other end of the room and he doesn’t think they’ll last that long, so he climbs into Killer’s bed and wiggles under the blankets. Killer mumbles something and rolls over, arms wrapping around him to pull him close, and he burrows as close as he can.

He doesn’t look up when he hears Jacques sneak out. He’s too busy trying to stop shaking.

He did it.

He did it, he did it, he did it.


End file.
